This short story is dedicated to Ventisquear
Leaving Marks
The last days had been difficult, the return to the Dalish no more easy than the fights in the forest. How do you explain to these people that their beloved leader had to die to end the curse? That he had been the source of so much evil, so much pain? Others would have chosen an easy path, had smoothed the expected troubles with a heart-gripping story about Zathrian's sacrifice. Alistair had even suggested such a course. But not his warden, not his Nemain.
Shortly Zevran wondered since when he had begun to think of her as 'his'. Since the kisses lesson two weeks before? Since he actually shoved her into the tent to Leliana? He wasn't sure. But in one thing he was very certain: that he knew the dwarven warrioress much better than her supposed brother-in-arms.
"They deserve the truth; they deserve to know what happened. And the werewolves deserve it too. I'm not going to allow that the Dalish hunt them down for deeds they had done without own fault. Zathrian had been a great leader for a long time, but he had also a darker side, a fearsome side. The crimes against his family have been avenged a long time ago. The humans that had been convicted to live as werewolves without committing any crime themselves should be able to live free from the past. And it is time for the Dalish to leave their anger and hatred behind. How could the live happy lives in the future without understanding the past?"
It was this mix of steel-hard backbone and compassion that he lo … liked so much about her.
It had been a long night, a night of heated discussions. For a while many Dalish had been unwilling to believe, unwilling to trust a Durgalen. But there had been voices of reason and voices of trust, Dalish that owned Nemain a favor, elves that had come to think highly of her. And there had been Lanaya, Zathrian's first and successor. She understood, she sensed Nemain's honor and the truth in her words as she had known that dark spot on Zathrian's soul; the spot she had tried to overlook for so many years. Not all had been forgotten, not all Dalish wanted peace, but in the end they had sworn to follow Lanaya's word, her word about truce. Zevran hoped that it would hold.
Leaving these thoughts behind for a while he further searched for his warden. She had been neither in the companions' camp nor with the Dalish, but Gheyna was able to give him directions, her young lover Cammen watching closely over the young girl. Not that it was needed. This was another thing that troubled the former assassin. Certainly he had not given up to flirt with everybody and still he found much delight in his little word fights with Leliana and causing red ears of Alistair, but … the intent had changed. He continued only to have some fun, not to really have success. Zevran wasn't even sure what he would do if unexpectedly one of his companions complied with his advances.
A soft smile appeared on his face as he detected her. Nemain sat on a log, the parts of the old elven armor she had found around her. Obviously she had used the past hours to scrub them clean of the dirt of past centuries. The veridium material was now visible again and with a thoughtful expression on her face Nemain traced the lines some great artisan had forced into the material so long ago, creating beautiful images of elven life and the creators.
His smile deepened as Zevran saw the tip of her tongue showing a bit between her full lips as she pondered about … something important and historic, he was sure. Lips that were equally strong and soft as he only knew too well since her kisses. He had dreamed of these kisses afterwards, dreamed of every look she sent in his direction before and after the kisses. What could they mean? What did they promise?
Leaving her chainmail and greaves behind Nemain wore only some old and often repaired leather pants together with a sleeveless vest that she had scavenged from some unlucky bandit a few weeks before. Nemain had shortened the vest but still it was not broad enough to encompass her muscular shoulders and her magical bosom, now doing more to present her feminine charms than to hide them. Unwanted pictures of her striding thru the forest lake with nothing left to his imagination invaded his mind. Before his thoughts wandered too far in that direction he declared his presence with a loud harrumph.
"Oh dear, as it seems my little pocket assassin has awakened at last. Are you full of vigor and mischief as I expect you to?" Her broad smile wavered not an instant as Zevran shot her an unconvincing troubled glare.
"I'm a full grown and competent assassin, please don't forget that. To belittle my many and wonderful abilities hurt my soft elven heart. Not that I expect otherwise from such a cruel, wicked lady."
"Oh, lady it is now?" Becoming more serious she switched to the armor. "How do you like it now? Without the old coating I think it looks really nice."
Not as nice as you, Zevran thought but he responded instead: "Yes, it is very beautiful now." Adding with a smirk he continued: "But I fear it would not fit to your splendid body. Certainly the elven smith had not in mind such a voluptuous sex goddess as you as he created the armor." The words caused too many ripples in Zevran's heart to be spoken as lightly as he wanted. But to his relief Nemain seemed to take them with humor. Shortly a glint of mischief showed in her eyes before she rose to her feet, wandered to Zevran's side and held the breastplate against his body.
"Yes, I see. It is more likely formed to enclose a haggard body such as yours. Especially the upper part would favor nicely your 'curves'." She knocked against the modeled breast of the plate, where the smith had tried to leave enough space for an elven bosom. "It would lift your bosom enough to make him …"
Nemain shrieked in played surprise as Zevran tried to grab her. She jumped back and blinked heavily, her broad smile with the strong white teeth belying her mock fear. Deflecting his grabs with the breastplate she still held in her hands, Nemain brought hastily a tree between her and Zevran while the elf growled a bit and continued to hunt her around her protection.
"Help, help, my pocket assassin is going wild." Nemain giggled and that proved to be her undoing after a merry chase around some of the trees and bushes. Looking at Zevran a split second to long she tripped over a root and crashed into a bush. The moments she needed to escape its grip were all what Zevran needed to close the gap. With a roar and his hands forming the claws of a predator he jumped on her back. Normally Nemain could have simply out forced his tackle but in the wrong moment a new laughing fit rocked thru her body. Zevran slammed into her and both went down. Some seconds later Nemain laid on the ground, Zevran above her and the breastplate between them.
Switching wildly between smirking and grinning Zevran looked down in her face. These eyes, the nose, the sweet lips, in the last moment he suppressed a deep sigh, something much more fitting to a soppy juvenile. Zevran's thoughts about a ransom he wanted to haggle from her were interrupted by a little cough. Damn it. "Am I interrupting something?" Before he was able to respond to Leliana with something very unfriendly, Zevran felt himself being overpowered by the not so helpless dwarf as he hoped. Moments later they had switched their positions and it was Nemain who grinned down. Without words she pressed the breastplate against the elves body and wrinkled her nose. Padding Zevran's shoulders she got up and outreached her hand. "Come on, old man, I need your help. Let's carry the armor to Lanaya."
Two hours later they were still at Lanaya's aravel, Nemain explaining to the keeper, Varathorn and Sarel what she had learned from that elven ghost in the ruins about being an arcane warrior. While he could learn nothing from that for his own benefit it was very interesting for Zevran to witness how much Nemain had been able to recall from that short moment of connection, especially as these things about magic would be so foreign to her. Somehow Nemain had created a kind of bond to that ghost, a bond of thoughts, memories and emotions. He should ask her about that connection later, ask her what she thought and felt about it. But for now he was thankful to sit silently near her and listen to her voice.
A few hours later the companions and the elder elves together with those Dalish Nemain had especially helped like Cammen and Gheyna or the hunter Athras gathered at the central fire. Alistair went to Nemain's side as he often did when it came to 'officials' while Zevran took a place farther away and near Leliana. The bard listened intensely with an expression as if she tried to remember every word for later poems. Varathorn sat beside Lanaya, something wrapped in a blanket at his feet. But it was the keeper that addressed the group.
"We owe you more than we could ever hope to pay back. And that you did it without expecting anything besides us holding true to that treaty only deepens our gratitude. This afternoon Nemain gave us something that is perhaps worth even more, something we couldn't hope to gain back after so many years: memories, memories of times past as our people were able to merge magic and metal in the arts of arcane warriors.
We thought about a way to show you our gratitude, to give you something to remember this moment. I know you're a very practical woman, Nemain. But … you two showed us that you care not only about the great things but also the small problems, the problems that sometimes cause so much trouble in our hearts."
While Lanaya paused a moment to look at Gheyna and Cammen, her smile causing their ears to assume a pink color, Zevran wondered shortly where this was going. Certainly Nemain deserved a token of gratitude but what had Alistair done aside from being a warden? Hastily he forced the frown away from his face before his gaze returned to the keeper.
"You two have entered the Brecilian Forest together and tomorrow you'll leave, but the forest will be changed forever. You'll leave your marks behind, marks in the ground as well as in our hearts and minds. We're sure that you will continue in leaving marks in the world, changing it for the better of us all. With that in mind we want you to take this with you."
Varathorn unwrapped the package and two pairs of matching leather boots became visible, Dalish leather boots artfully crafted from the best leather of two kinds. On light brown base leather Zevran saw the patterns of animals crafted from a dark red hide. Lanaya took the first pair, broad and very heavy with bears on the sides, and gave them to Nemain. Shortly Zevran wondered about how Alistair's massive kicks should be able to enter the slender second pair with the wolf patterns as Varathorn outreached them to him instead. Zevran blinked furiously at the elder elf. Disregarding his surprise and the gasps of his companions Lanaya continued.
"We hope that these matching boots will be a physical sign and witness to your emotional bond for a long time as you wander the width of Ferelden, leaving marks in history and memories."
A heavy boot stomped on Zevran's foot as Nemain walked at his side and smiled broadly at Lanaya and Varathorn. "This is a marvelous gift; we both thank you and your people very much. Don't we, Zev?" She smiled and blinked at Zevran while her foot pressed even more on his toes. Hastily he closed his gaping mouth partly to suppress a hiss of pain.
"Ye … yes, we do. Thank you, Lanaya." Gaining back his mind he grabbed his boots from Varathorn's hands.
The conversation turned to other things and minutes later Zevran sat alone on a log, Nemain felt miles away. He hadn't to look up to see the smile on Leliana's face as she whispered: "may these boots be a sign of your bond". Zevran felt the urgent need to throttle the bard. Later, he thought, later.
